


The Widower

by threnody



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha Harry Potter, Alpha Neville Longbottom, Alpha Severus Snape, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Dubious Consent, M/M, Omega Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Slow Burn, Work In Progress, more tags will be added as story progresses, multiple character deaths, whodunit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2020-12-21 11:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21074246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threnody/pseuds/threnody
Summary: He has seen the lengths people go through for money, glory, power. But how far would one go for their one, true, everlasting love?





	1. Prologue

“You don’t have to do this, my boy.”

His shaky grip falters, nearly dislodging his wand.

“You can still stop this. A wrong decision can not be undone but-”

“STOP! Stop. It’s the only way.”

“You would know better than most that there is always another path. Unpleasant as it may be.”

“A path of pain,” he scoffs, “a path of solitude. I’ve had enough of that, Professor.”

“I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Who let his pain and anger fester until he became a vile man. You have made questionable choices before, but you have learned from them. You can allow yourself to heal and choose to be a just person.”

“Those weren’t choices. I did what had to be done. Everything has been taken from me whether I wanted to or not. Whether I did what was ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. It never made a difference. Just this once I’ll have someone that can’t be taken away from me.”

“By doing this, you’re taking away his choice. Surely you know that?”

“It doesn’t-” he starts but then shakes his head, “it won’t matter.”

* * *

A loud pop is then followed by three sets of footsteps that echoed throughout the empty street. The three walked in silence. It was spring; the weather is usually temperate, but Draco could feel his fringe sticking to his forehead. The gust of wind gives some respite to the heat, bringing the scent of smoke and scummy water along with it .

“Bloody disgusting, putrid--” a low voice mutters.

“This is your idea, Lucius.”

Draco lifts his head from the chipped cobblestone to look at his parents.

“Listen here, Narcissa,” his father growls and steps closer to his mother, “You were the one who went to him, without my permission may I add.”

She stares straight ahead and stands firm. “I did what I had to do to protect my son, _our_ son, Lucius.”

“And look at us, begging for scraps. There’s no way to know for certain we can trust him.”

  
“You trusted the Dark Lord and you look where it got us. You have no one but yourself to blame.”

“Me? I’m to blame for this situation? You’re the one that trapped us into his debt,” he steps forward until they’re face to face. His knuckles turning white as he grips his cane.

“And I’ll do it again,” she spits and looks directly up at him, daring, “If you want to point fingers, you were the one that continued to serve the Dark Lord. We escaped by the skin of our teeth and Abraxas’ influence the first time. If you cared more about your family over your ambition we wouldn’t be here.”

“This _is_ for the family. My ambition has always been to further the family legacy, while you do all you can to undermine it.”

“I do it so that there is a family left!” Their voices echoed throughout the empty street as they continue staring at each other before he turns to Draco with a sneer on his face. Draco avoids his gaze and stares at the ground again. His father huffs and they continue their walk.

They stop at the end of the street. One of his parents knocks on the door. Draco looks up and observes the grime encrusted onto the bricks. The glass panes are nearly opaque from the soot. He stares out to the other houses. From what he could make out of the dim light of the sporadically working street lamps, it looks the same as the other houses. Maybe even one of the more presentable ones, when he sees boarded-up doors and windows.

“Perhaps we should have come in the morning,” his mother whispers when no one answers the door.

“This is our only opportunity,” his father angrily whispers back. He lifts his cane to tap the tarnished snakehead handle on the door when it opens suddenly.

“What do you want?”

“Is that a way to treat your guests Severus?” his father said with a frown, before pushing his way in. His mother follows.

Draco stares at his professor before the other man snaps, “Well?” He hurries inside. It’s dark, but he follows the faint light in one of the rooms.

Their appearance stops him in his tracks. His father was seated on a dingy sofa, his mother standing behind him, worrying her hands and idly looking at the dusty bookcase. He always thought them infallibly poised, but that image has died long ago. He could see now that all their pride and bravado was a facade, one they’re pitifully holding on to, as the flickering light from the fireplace deepens the hollows under his father’s eyes. The shadow of his father’s unkempt beard and his mother’s frazzled hair has become a familiar sight but now had just made itself abundantly clear to him how far they’ve fallen. The position they’re in. Still, they both do their best to keep their backs straight, appear firm, as if this spontaneous late-night house call was an afternoon tea invitation they’ve deigned appear to. A warm figure lingers behind him, then it brushes past before he realizes he’s blocking the doorway. Snape fastens his night robe before sitting down on an old leather wingback on the opposite side of the room. Suddenly aware of his own pathetic appearance, Draco walks himself in front of the hearth, staring at the embers as if perhaps it holds the answers to the universe.

There’s some rustling before his mother says softly “Thank you for seeing us on such short notice Severus.” Snape raises his brow and turns his gaze to Lucius.

“‘Short notice’ implies there was some form of missive for this…” he gestures his hand over the three of them “family excursion.”

“Yes well-” his mother starts.

“I don’t care what your reasoning is,” he interrupts. He sighs and settles his elbow on the chair’s arm. He rests his forehead on his palm, “Let me be frank, Narcissa. This is a desperate attempt for your family to escape this unscathed. But you and I both know that it’s impossible. And I have no reason to risk whatever little sway or respect I have left in an attempt to do so.” Draco sees his father’s nostrils flare and his jaw clench but they all remain silent.

Only the sound of the crackling fire can be heard until his father speaks. “You misunderstand the nature of our visit Severus,” Lucius says in a sickly sweet tone, “We are thankful for all that you’ve done for our family already, truly.”

Snape looks at him incredulously before he lets out a small laugh. “Oh?”

“We did not come here with the intention of asking more of you. In fact, we have an offering.”

The amusement fades from Snape’s eyes and he begins to stand, “I have no use for money.”

“A bride then?”

Draco’s eyes widen.

“What?-”

“Our darling Draco here has begun to present as an Omega. This was a rather unexpected turn of events, so we have not adequately prepared for an official announcement. Narcissa and I thought it was best to let you be the first to know,” Lucius begins to stand as well and brushing off the dust from his lap, letting the implication hang heavily in the air, “I’ll give you some time to think it over, I understand that this is all very sudden.”

Draco gapes at his father. Before he can even process any of this information Snape interjects,  
“No! I mean, I accept. I’ll do it.”

Draco turns to face him, even more surprised. Snape doesn’t even glance back. He just continues to stare at Lucius with wide eyes, whether at the announcement, the offer, or at his own eagerness, Draco isn’t sure. He feels his mother’s delicate arm wrap around his before he is being pulled away.

“We can talk about the details in the morning.” Lucius claps Snape on the shoulder and with that, they’re out the door.

It wasn’t until they reached the manor before Draco is shaken out of his stupor by the feeling of disapparating. He shakes off his mother’s hand and stumbles forward.

“What in the bloody fuck was that?” he screams

“Mind your language!” his mother says.

“And keep your voice down you stupid boy!” his father says warily, eyeing the manor as if intruders were lurking at every shadowy corner.

“H-how did you know?” he says shakily, breathing uneven. Black spots dance around his vision as he kneels on the floor, staring at his hands.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t know?”

“I was s-so careful and-” he feels his mother brushing back his hair. His father steps towards him, leaning down and bringing a finger to his chin to raise his face.

“Your peers and housemates may have been none the wiser. But we are your parents. We’ve known about your status before you’ve held a wand.”

“Then why did I just start presenting? Why didn’t you tell me? Wh-” his mother shushes him, reminding him of his rising voice, but it doesn’t stop his mind from racing.

“I know this is all very confusing darling,” she says softly, continuing to brush back his sweat-soaked hair from his face, “but you need to rest, we’ll tell you all about it in the morning.”

* * *

The rest of the night was a blur. Draco vaguely recalls the darkness that was occupying the edges of his vision suddenly overwhelming the rest of his sight. A moment of weightlessness, being laid upon something soft, a brush of lips to his temple. At least he woke up comfortably.

It’s been difficult to sleep the past few nights, even harder to actually feel somewhat refreshed. Sleeping draughts seemed to only work for the first few hours of sleep before he’s awake again with foggy half-memories and nightmares. His room felt like being in the middle of a snowstorm in the afternoons, but by the time he’s up and panting from various dark figures chasing him, his blankets are sticking to him. A sheen of sweat covering him from head to toe. Today is no different. But at least he got some sleep, he thinks. He buries his head further into his pillow. He’s still tired but he knows that it won’t be a fitless rest if he tries to sleep in.

He finally gets up but he doesn’t bother to make his bed or change his clothes. It’s not like he got a chance to change anyhow when he got dragged out of his room the night before. The elves could do it but he couldn’t even muster the energy to call out for one. He draws the curtain a bit to make sure it’s light out before heading out the door. Draco has sequestered himself to his room since they left the battle. The Manor was too terrifying to wander in the dark. It’s better during the day with natural light but the fear is too entrenched in his mind. So he stays inside his room. And if he must leave, he takes the secret hallways and staircases.

When he steps into the smaller, informal dining room, he’s surprised that his parents are still there. The rare times he’s ventured out for food, the elves had already finished cleaning up. Only a plate left out for him that’s gone cold despite the warming charms.

His father is at the head of the table, nose buried in the Daily Prophet. His mother sits to his right, facing the large windows looking over the grounds. Draco sits down carefully, scared that his presence would ruin the idyllic scene before him. This has been the most peaceful he’s seen them since the end of third year. It’s almost like everything is back to normal. A plate appears before him. He eyes his parents cautiously before picking up the silverware. He breathes a sigh of relief internally.

If he closed his eyes, maybe everything that has happened would just be a daydream of the future gone wrong. He would be a naive child again. He would just blabber about inviting friends over for a game of quidditch. His father would grunt and his mother would say “Oh that sounds like a wonderful idea, darling.” He would talk about school, his stupid rivalry with Potter, the incompetence of the Hogwarts staff. On and on like the spoiled brat he is. His mother breaks him out of his reverie with a soft touch of her fingers to his own hands.

“Good morning, Draco.”

“Good morning mother,” he mumbles.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I slept fine,” he says, struggling to get the irritation out of his voice, “considering that my inexplicable illness led my parents to broker a marriage to my former professor,” stabbing and cutting into his food with barely restrained force. “What about you, mother? Surely hiding your son’s second sex from him and choosing your future son-in-law must have kept-”

“Enough!” Lucius yells as he slams his hand to the table, “Not one decision on this matter has been as easy or simple as you believe. After much deliberation, your mother and I thought this was the best course of action, given our current situation.”

“Marrying me off to Snape? Or finally letting me know that I’m an omega? You said something about last night knowing it before I even went to Hogwarts! Were you ever going to tell me?”

“We did what we thought was best for you darling. We wouldn’t have kept it from you forever… just… until circumstances demanded it,” she finishes hesitantly.

“Until circumstances demanded it?” he looks at them bewilderedly “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“Tensions were high last night,” his father reasons “We may have been a tad dramatic. We were never certain you would present, just that the possibility was there. Your mother and I have taken proactive countermeasures nonetheless. Not that it stopped anything, it may have accelerated things actually.”

“Proactive countermeasures? Accelerated?” he repeats their words with his ire finally escaping, “After all this time both of you are still doing this? For once can’t you just tell me what’s going on? Aren’t you tired of all this obfuscation?” his voice breaks. “Please. I just want to know what is happening. Please just be honest with me. I never knew what was going on until it was too late and even then I still didn’t know the details. Please?” A warm tear tracks down his face as he looks beseechingly at his parents.

His father lets out a sigh. Narcissa encloses both of her hands around his scrunched fist. She glances at Lucius before she begins, “Well, truth be told love, we wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

“At the beginning, mother, preferably,” he snarks with a teary smile.

A swoop of a bird interrupts the moment. His father unties the letter from the owl’s leg, quickly scanning its contents, before rising to leave immediately. Just as he opens his mouth to question, his mother insists upon taking the conversation somewhere more comfortable. Draco pauses for a moment before nodding in acquiescence, not really having much of an appetite anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco sits on the plush, velvet loveseat in his mother’s favored parlour. Narcissa has been pacing the length of the room for some time now, occasionally turning to look at him and making aborted hand gestures, as if she were rehearsing what she wants to say. He pets the fabric, smoothing and unsmoothing the upholstery in the awkward silence. 

“Mother-”

“What do you know of accidental magic?” she bursts out, facing him. He raises his brow, unsure if her question was rhetorical. “Of course you know about accidental magic,” dismissing her own thought as she continues not quite looking at him, “It’s the hallmark of a magical child coming into their power, it typically manifests around the age of seven,” she starts pacing again, her hand movements becoming more exaggerated, “It’s not a definitive marker, children can be late bloomers. And squib children are known to perform it as well on rare occasions, though it is the full extent of their magic and their control of it. Notably, the earlier a child performs accidental magic the more powerful they will be,” she rambles in one breath.

“But I digress,” she stops, finally walking towards him, her hand reaching out to brush away his fringe “There are patterns, you see. It’s dismissed as bearers’ and wives’ tales but I've often found to be true." She takes a seat, turning her body towards him. Once again she takes his hands in hers but not meeting his eyes. 

"Children who eventually manifest into alphas tend to have a negative nature to their magic. Not negative in the sense of a mood or mindset per se,” she counters immediately, inspecting his bite worn nails, “Subtractive, I suppose, would be the better word. Oftentimes flamboyant too, though this is harder to tell. Comparatively, beta magic is transformative. Items becoming enlarged or miniaturized, changing colors. Things of that sort. Omega magic, on the other hand, is additive,” she continues hurriedly, caressing the webbing between his fingers.

“As babes, the Zabini boy tended to vanish whichever toy you were attached to at the time, with great flourish. Saying he had a much better one to give to you, or that he himself was more worthy of your attention. Nott’s youngest boy would try to placate you by summoning one of his own and changing it to make it look like the one you had. You would run to me sometimes, ‘Bring it back Mummy,’ you would say,” she imitated, face scrunching up and pitching her voice higher, “‘This isn’t the same on the inside.’ Then I would tell you to run along, that it's rude to interrupt when adults are speaking. Truthfully, however, I didn’t see a difference. And then on one fateful day, you were so incensed. Basileus the stuffed basilisk just had to be in attendance for your coronation. So you, my darling boy, simply willed him back into existence.”

“I know how ludicrous this all sounds” she sighs, finally looking directly at him with resolve in her eyes, “I wouldn’t have had my suspicions otherwise unless I saw it for myself. It’s difficult to discern, and all too easy to see one as the other. It’s easy to assume a child has vanished something when it really had just relocated it. Or that some sparks could be categorized as definitively ostentatious," she trails off, ceasing her train of thought.

“That’s what you’re basing all of this on?” he posits carefully.

“It’s more than that darling, but it’s hard to describe. Call it a mother’s intuition.” Draco just nods, his mother is nervous enough as it is. He isn’t sure if she could handle much scrutiny.

“Is there anything else you want to add mother?”

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

  


* * *

  


He raises his hand and taps his knuckles against the ornate ebony door. There’s a lull in the soft murmurings before he hears a clearer “Come in.”

He twists the doorknob and pushes forward, not yet passing the threshold. He takes in the room and its occupants. He looks to Narcissa. 

“Lucius wanted to speak to you. I believe he’ll be consulting you regarding the agreements of the,” he pauses and turns his gaze to Draco, “arrangement.”

“Yes. Of course. Thank you, Severus, I shall be off,” she stands and heads to the door. He finally walks inside, leaving the doorway open for her. Just as she passes she looks at him curiously, “Will you be staying?”

“I believe it would be wise to share a few words with my betrothed.” He can see the boy visibly bristle at the word in his periphery. She continues to study him. There’s a slight clench in her jaw before she nods and leaves the room.

He turns his attention back to the boy. Draco stands to greet him, gaze lingering at his neck. The boy motions for him to have a seat. He continues staring, brows furrowed, a million questions at the tip of his tongue. Unfortunate for a Slytherin to have an expressive face, but the transparency has been refreshing. The corners of his mouth and lips keep twitching, wanting to speak but unable to start.

“There’s no need for formalities, my given name should be adequate,” he says, addressing one of the blond’s unspoken concerns. The boy nods. 

“You seem… well” the omega responds, bypassing the matter altogether. Snape wants to roll his eyes, but appearances must be maintained.

“There’s no need for small talk either. But yes I am well. The potion I had you make did what it was supposed to. Some rest and blood replenishing potions are all that is required.”

The blond nods again and lowers his gaze to the floor. There is a tense moment of silence before he makes direct eye contact, a stubborn gleam in those slate gray irises. 

“Why?” 

He quirks a brow at the boy’s candor.

“I’m doing it to protect you.”

A snide huff escapes his former pupil, donning a sneer that mars his delicate features. “The terms of the Vow have been met. It was to kill Professor Dumbledore in my stead. Saint Potter had taken it upon himself to enlighten the masses that the Headmaster's death was imminent due to a sinister curse by the Dark Lord. That his 'murder' had already been conspired long before mother came stomping to your home with Aunt Bella. If anything the Vow gave you some plausible deniability, so let me ask you again. _Why?_" 

While it was amusing to see the meek thing before him disappear for this impersonation of intimidation, it doesn't bode well for the future if he abides by such impudence. "Since you need everything to be handed to you, you stupid brat, this ensures that I will be your designated guardian should anything happen to Lucius and Narcissa. My clear disinterest in your wealth likely made me the only marriageable candidate. And with all the effort I've expended to keep you alive, _to help you succeed_, it's unlikely for me to kill you in the foreseeable future." Draco’s obstinate attitude immediately dissipates, but he continues.

“By being your lawfully wedded Alpha, anyone seeking revenge or reparations from the Malfoys would inadvertently be demanding it from a lauded war hero. Any affront done to you is a direct slight against me because everything you own will belong to me. _You_ will belong to me. Do you understand now?” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice. But his tone escalated anyway, unused to Draco being this dense. The boy used to hold him in the utmost esteem, reverence even. They used to have a relationship of mutual respect, one he has just prolonged in restoring by antagonizing the omega.

Draco crosses his arms, “You still haven’t answered my question. You said it yourself last night, there’s no use for you to help us. I had a hand in brewing the antidote, but I can hardly be credited for saving your life, so it’s not that. I need to know what you stand to gain from this. A Malfoy _bride_,” he spits out the word, “holds no prestige in the current climate. I can’t hold up my end of the bargain if I don’t know what it is.”

“You think I will renege on my word?” gritting his teeth, the boy is toeing a dangerous line.

“We’re both traitors, but you’re certainly not doing this out of pure goodness in your heart,” Draco shakes his head and looks to the side. A slight quiver enters his voice, “I can’t risk losing my family again.”

“I do share some culpability regarding your current dilemma,” he says softly, in lieu of an apology. The boy seems to still regard him highly. It’s mystifying to see him fluctuate between moments of ingenuity and pure stupidity. Snape can hardly begrudge the blond’s favorable assumption of his motives.

Another unamused huff, “Which one?” 

“Your presentation.”

Draco narrows his eyes, tone icy, “You made me become an omega?”

“Merlin, no. That’s hardly in anyone’s capacity. Your mother forgot a crucial detail in her nervous babbling,” the boy continues to look at him with suspicion, “You’ve been on suppressants since you were a child, strong ones too. Modified versions of derelict recipes. It’s been successful but even I can’t know its long term effects. Especially on the body of a prepresentant child.”

Draco raises his brow, “You wouldn’t feel culpable over an experimental potion losing efficacy.” _ That still doesn’t explain anything _going unsaid, “I always thought it curious how closely you looked at my health. Figures it was to reassure yourself of your own brilliance.”

Snape sighs, letting the remark slip. The boy is justified in his disdain, “Bellatrix, ever the loyal servant, implied to the Dark Lord a deal was brokered between your mother and me. If he caught a whiff of the specifics, he’d have had your mother’s head for meddling. And your father's for letting her undermine His orders. I simply showed Him an even earlier memory of Narcissa expressing concerns about your behavior. Inquiring after the consequences of giving heat suppressants to a child, the viability of creating a strong enough suppressant to postpone or outright eliminate the likelihood of presentation. That was more than enough for Him to draw his own conclusions.”

“He knew?” Draco’s voice takes on a panicked edge.

“After acquiring that bit of information, He began having grander designs on how to test your devotion to the cause. I was to stop dosing you with suppressants and start you on expulsorants immediately. Perhaps even heat inducers had his impatience demanded it.”

Draco, pale as he already is, takes on a ghoulish pallor. 

“He intended for you to ensure his...longevity,” he forces himself to continue, he owes the boy this much, “A backup plan should dissidents dare rise up in the future.”

“I thought he had no use for heirs,” a soft frightened whisper.

“He didn’t,” he feels his own stomach turning itself into knots, “The children needn’t be His, you just had to produce them,” it was his turn to gaze at the floor. Shame making itself known to him once more.

“Like that makes it any better!” the boy shouts, hysterical, “I was supposed to be what then? A hostage? A party favor to be passed about? A reward to be dangled in the faces of His faithful? To single-handedly birth the next generation of purebloods?”

“He-”

“I knew plenty well how He saw omegas, thank you very much! You don’t need to be condescending,” Draco stands and starts pacing frantically before ceasing. He watches the shoes come closer and a disgusted voice booms above him, “How could you?”

He’s had enough. He stands and stares him down, freely using his height to intimidate, “It'd serve you well to temper your insolence,” he spits.

Draco just stares back up at him boldly, unwavering, “And why would I do that, _Severus_?”

He brings his hand up, unable to stop himself. He brushes the back of his fingers against the boy’s temple, down to his cheeks, then instantly forgoing the soft caress to grip his chin and pulling him upward. It’s a wonder how one who has seen so much still maintain this level of foolishness and naivety. To show such ungratefulness for the horrendous fate he’d been saved from.

Despite his gauntness and boorish behavior, Draco is beauteous in his anger, his spirit. It’s an indignity to do so, but such misconduct can’t be tolerated 

He leans forward, feeling the boy’s warm breath against his face, “Because it'd serve me even better to keep you silenced.” He withdraws his tight grasp and begins to head out.

“Brush up on healing potions,” he says over his shoulder, not quite turning to face Draco, “I’ll be fetching you first thing tomorrow morning.”


	3. Chapter 3

Draco stands impatiently in the foyer. His eyes linger at the various tables and vases that used to hold his mother’s famed roses. Now they are just frivolous baubles, dainty and intricate, shrouded in dust. He worries the sleeves of the ill-fitting jumper he’s wearing and tries not to look at the spot he fainted at two nights prior. Snape never specified a time. What the bloody hell was “first thing in the morning” supposed to mean? Granted, he could have just stayed in his rooms until he was summoned. But it’s not like he was busy doing anything. He could have joined his mother for breakfast, but he doesn’t think he could’ve stomached any food, let alone his mother’s worried glances and unspoken apologies.

The front door swings open, shaking him out of his thoughts.

Snape doesn’t look pleased, to say the least. He’s resting a hand on the doorway and glaring daggers. Draco lowers his eyes as Snape’s heaving breaths echoed. He doesn’t catch the split second look of surprise.

“What are you wearing?” Snape asks once he’s caught his breath.

“I- um, it’s cold,” Draco whispers. He lifts his gaze and sees the Alpha’s raised brow, “Father gave away most of my robes. I don’t think he meant to do it. He was freeing the elves by giving away clothes I’ve grown out of.”

Snape huffs, “Bastard. He could have at least kept my signature keyed into the wards and saved me the trip from the gate. He knows I’m still recovering,” He dusts off his robe and walks toward the blond, “You’re capable of apparating, yes?”

“No,” Draco answers meekly. Snape takes an exasperated breath and rolls his eyes. He reaches out his arm for the blond to take. Before taking the proffered hand, Draco continues, “I don’t have a wand either I’m afraid.”

“I take it that this is Lucius’ doing as well?”

“Yes. Potter took my wand, you know what happened to father’s. We’ve been relying on mother’s wand and the few elves that refused to leave.” As much as the annoyance seeping out of the man is making him feel uneasy and ashamed, he tries his best to stand his ground. It’s not him that Snape’s ire is directed at. If this whole business hadn’t robbed him of his fortitude and strength, he’d have a lot less patience that the Alpha is exhibiting.

Snape moves his arm closer “I haven’t got all day.”

“And we will have to walk to the end of the wards.” A final cherry on top for this disastrous start. Draco wasn’t sure what he expected, another dramatic sigh or see the Alpha lose his composure for once. But the man was already halfway out the door, dark cloak billowing behind him. 

With long, hurried strides, the older man reaches the gates quickly. Draco, too busy trying to catch up, doesn’t notice Snape stopping abruptly and subsequently bumps into him. Snape manages to turn quickly and steadies him with two firm grips on both shoulders. Before Draco could even catch his own footing, the alpha’s sudden proximity only makes him more disoriented. He says something but Draco can’t quite connect the sounds he’s hearing with their intended meaning. Snape is intimately close, he can feel the older man’s breath between words. And _ dear Merlin_, that’s just the word isn’t it, _ intimate _.

“Do you understand?” 

He nods dumbly. He’s trying to remember what Snape just said. It’s coming in bits and pieces. Something about keeping close, keeping his head down. As if that wasn’t what he was going to default to anyway. He tries to answer, Snape’s questions were never rhetorical. The moment that passes feels like an eternity, so far into his own mind that he can’t get himself to utter words. Snape manages to bring him back with a warm, rough touch to his temple, pushing strands of blond locks behind his ear.

Draco looks up then, but his thoughts continue its disjointed, panicked rambling instead of letting him use his voice box. Because, bloody hell, since when was Snape a tactile person? Or known to even be capable of the current level of patience and tenderness he is witnessing right now? He feels like he fell into a vat of a hallucinogenic potion. Has Snape always been like this but has tried to hide it? Is he forcing himself to act compassionately? Snape has always played favorites, but despite what everyone else believed, there was never an erosion of the man’s cold distance and professionality. Is this an act of duty, propriety that an Alpha must show an omega? That’s what they are going to be, alpha and omega, bonded. Do things bonded people do. The words consummation, bond, mate, heat, all swirling with graphic visualizations in his mind’s eye. Even the exasperated sigh doesn’t manage to make him snap out of it.

“Have you eaten?” 

Draco surmises that he made some sort of noise to indicate that he had not, because Snape mutters something like, “At least this won’t be more unpleasant than it has to.” Then the man's grasp moves down to his waist. The tug on his navel afterwards surely solely responsible for the strange feeling in his stomach.

* * *

As they land, Snape keeps a hand on the small of Draco’s back. The overwhelming sensation of apparating unfortunately bringing the boy back to the present. Draco immediately looks at his surroundings, studying the smattering of burnt patches in the foliage. Snape only looks ahead and leads. Thankfully the blond’s legs cooperate. That is, until Draco glances at the horizon.

“You’re absolutely mad. Gone off the deep end.”

“I’ll bind and levitate you if you don’t stop thrashing this instance.”

“No! No- oh god you’re letting them send me to Azkaban! Father-” he yells as he yanks away from Snape’s grasp, immediately falling to his knees.

“Lucius is a bloody moron,” Snape replies, taking some steps away from the boy, “And if that was my intention, what exactly can you do about it at this point?”

Draco eyes his wand. Snape only sneers at his transparent scheming. He turns and heads for the castle. Once the boy was done with his hyterics he would have no choice but to follow.

He continues to the castle, occasionally slowing his pace to keep an ear out for the omega. Draco is clever, but Slytherin self-preservation can present itself in paradoxical ways. 

* * *

“Severus? What are you doing here? You should be resting,” an accented voice inquires. Her gaze glides through his entire form and his companion. It’s a minute movement, but he notes her grip tightening on her wand, her eyes narrowing.

“I could say the same for you, Minerva. I’ve recovered enough. I've taken on Mr. Malfoy as an apprentice for the time being. He will be assisting me with replenishing the medicine stock.”

“I’m not sure his presence would be welcomed or yours for that matter, many are still recovering in the castle.”

“He has no wand Minerva, he came here to help.”

“And you?”

“You still doubt where my loyalties lie?”

They stare each other down. She eventually softens her gaze and lets them through the gates, “The dungeons were largely untouched, he can brew potions in your lab. Your assistance is needed elsewhere however.”

“He’ll be vulnerable.”

“I’ll have someone come by to create a ward.”

He acquiesces but even with her back turned, he is sure she can sense his frown. She halts her steps at the large doorway, “Poppy should be at the hospital wing, ask her what they need. And stop by the office after you have escorted Mr. Malfoy to the dungeons.”

* * *

Harry sits hidden in an alcove, near the hospital wing, staring at the marauder’s map. He initially heard some murmuring but chose to ignore it to study the map further. Most of the main areas are intact. Though the spellwork was connected to the castle’s main protection ward, so most of the hallways, secret or not, are missing. What’s left are chunks of locations with nothing connecting them together. Half the people were also not registering, either just having their footprints or their names floating but never both. Two new names flash on to the map, and he can’t believe his eyes. But he catches a black blur in his periphery, so this can’t possibly be another malfunction. 

Before he can even start to question why he would need to approach Snape and Malfoy on their sudden appearance at Hogwarts, he has left the alcove to try to follow them surreptitiously. But then again, that was an easy question to answer. This is easily the most interesting that has happened in the past few days that wasn’t entirely drenched in misery. He’s been helping with restoration efforts, but everyone is forced to work in shifts, The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice included. To prevent magical exhaustion they say. But if anything he feels restless. Like Voldemort himself was a barricade that was preventing him from accessing all of his magic. And with his death, the dam broke and all of it is pouring out of him, seething out of every pore. Harry thinks that everyone is just terrified when they weren’t stupefied with grief.

Being surrounded by people has been exhausting as it’s ever been. But then the headaches came. A different sort, thankfully. It was scary at first until he realized he’s being stunned still by _ smells _. Everything smells so strong. Like death and decay, blood and rot. Then there was the random group that huddled together by the High Table near the podium. Their fear and anxiety rolling in waves, making him feel like it was crawling in his skin. Then the accompanying sweet scent that was so artificial that made his mouth water but his stomach turn. 

There's been some order meetings since then but they're shutting him out. The younger members have essentially quit. Too busy trying to pick up the pieces of their lives that they have left and left the adults to “restructure Wizarding Society”. They expected him to do the same, which really was a huge cosmic fuck you. Hermione went to go get her parents. Ron was mourning Fred with the rest of the Weasleys. Not that he wasn’t mourning either. But thats all he had, was to mourn. As much as he wants to wallow in it, it feels unfair. That he returned but not everyone else. He sacrificed himself for everyone. It was only meant to be him. And now he’s back and everyone isn’t. He feels a need to live a life for everyone that lost theirs because they essentially gave it to him. And isn’t that a huge load to carry. 

Not that he really wanted to bother himself with Domestic and Foreign policy, but surely he can _ help _ . He had more power than he knew what to do with, he can probably rebuild the castle by himself if they just fucking told him _ how _\--

\--when he sees McGonagall wave Neville over and whisper quickly to him. To which Neville’s eyes light up, nodding eagerly, and starts heading the same direction as Snape and Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone still reading this lol. Apologies for the late update. IRL has been kicking my butt since October and Corona kicked everyone's butt. This chapter was supposed to be longer but I cut it, hopefully this means the next update won't take as long. Thank you everyone for reading <3


	4. Chapter 4

“What was that about?” Harry queries.

“Uh it's nothing just needing to put up a ward for some new volunteers,” Neville blurts out.

“I'll help, got nothing to do.”

“No, it's okay Harry, really. I can do it.”

Harry waits until Neville rounds the corner. He makes sure the coast is clear before he enters the alcove once more, only to don his invisibility cloak and follow. His past time of restoring the map worked to his favor. He catches them right as they enter the potion’s classroom. He hurries inside when the door is left ajar. Harry expects to smell the dank and dampness he normally associated with the dungeons. Or perhaps the panic and worry that fills the castle’s halls but he is instead met with the most wondrous scent. Like almond tart, a rich sweetness undercut by citrus that makes him salivate, eager to get a taste.

He subconsciously moves closer towards the scent when he realizes where he was headed. The source of it all was Malfoy.

Harry doesn’t even have time to ruminate on this ludicrous chain of events, because things continued to get more bizarre. 

Neville gets to the doorway, panting like he just ran down here. He probably did, judging from the sweat trickling down his temple. Snape pointedly takes off his robe and deposits it on a nearby chair. He sneers at Neville, bumping his shoulder on his way out. Malfoy had his back turned, busying himself with arranging potions ingredients and didn’t catch the childish interaction between the two. 

Then, once Snape was long out of sight, Neville walked briskly to Malfoy. He wraps his hands around the other’s smaller form and swings him around. Neville buries his nose in Malfoy’s neck and says in such a low tone Harry almost didn’t catch it, “I’ve missed you. I’ve been so worried.” 

An even more outlandish thing occurs. Malfoy leans into the hold and embraces him back. Harry just stands there, mouth agape.

Neville eventually releases Malfoy but keeps a firm grip on his biceps,

”I don’t even know what to say. Are you okay? You came here with Snape? I could've gotten you.” Neville looks down, and Harry follows his gaze. Malfoy was wearing an atrocious jumper that looked suspiciously familiar, “I didn’t know you still had that, it suits you.” Malfoy blushes and pushes Neville’s arms away. 

Malfoy murmurs something, Harry could have come closer but he was glued to the floor. Something about it not being proper, whatever he said, however, clearly upset Neville. 

“I thought you were tired of all that propriety shite. Voldemort’s dead! You can just be yourself now. Fuck pureblood customs.” Malfoy’s voice gets even smaller. What he said made Neville take a step back.

“What? How? I sent an owl but I figured you were just busy or hiding or, or. Or something I don’t know! Not this! Why jump into it? Why are you still letting them run your life?”

Malfoy straightens his back and projects his voice, “I told you more than I should have. You got me in a vulnerable state, don't mistake our arrangement for anything more,” his tone getting clipped at the end, belying his earlier tone. 

“No you can't say things like that anymore, I know you don't mean it. I know you. It stopped being an arrangement when we-”

“Maybe for you. You don't know me Longbottom. Just here take it,” Malfoy quickly takes off the jumper and shoves it into Neville’s hands, “Leave me alone.”

Neville brushes his thumb to Malfoy’s lips, a look of worry etched onto his face. Malfoy tries his best to keep his head up, but his eyes are not meeting Neville’s.

The alpha releases a breath and starts walking backwards to head out.

“Wait!”

Neville turns, looking hopeful.

“Were you the one supposed to cast the ward?”

“Oh, right,” Neville says sheepishly and starts the spellwork. He leaves just as soon as he finishes. Malfoy returns to his potions.

Harry is shocked and confused beyond words. What the bloody hell has just happened?

* * *

Harry stays a little bit to see what Malfoy does, but he just puts on Snape's robe - which is also strange but not as strange as before- and continues making some potions. This also has the unfortunate consequence of burying Malfoy's scent. It helps Harry clear his head a bit though.

He wants to catch up with Neville but he's long gone. And he'd have to reveal that he was spying. This just added so much confusion but he can’t help but be a tiny bit intrigued. Just what had happened last year? Clearly Neville and Malfoy had an ‘arrangement’ going on. Something that could be construed as romantic.

* * *

Harry is just walking around, mulling over what he just saw when Luna surprises him as she crosses his path.

“Would you like to join us, Harry?”

Just as when he was about to ask who “us” would be, he can see beyond her a group of children, likely firsties and second years by the looks of it.

“We’re going to feed the thestrals,” she says in her melodic tone, preemptively answering his question.

“Uh sure.” Sadness washes over him, realizing what’s going on.

“Nearly everyone could see them now. McGonagall tried but some of them hid and saw things,” Luna confirms. “It helps them not be as scared.”

She leads them to a clearing towards the Forest. She carefully hands out pieces of raw meat out of the crossbody bag she’s carrying. Harry doesn’t quite know what to do, so he just stands there until Luna hands him some meat as well. He feeds the nearest thestral. Petting it on its head and snout as it nips at his fingers. There’s some coaxing involved for some of the children. But Luna’s soft cadence and assurance makes them fast friends with the creatures.

“Something on your mind, Harry?” she says, suddenly at his side. He doesn’t quite know how to broach the subject. But surely she must have known something right? 

“Malfoy is here. I saw him talk to Neville.” 

“Oh you found out about them have you? Poor things, the both of them.” So she  _ does _ know. 

“Wait, what?”

“Well, I guess Draco’s the more unfortunate one in this matter. Since it’s his circumstance that’s stopping them.”

“Again Luna, what?” He tries to be more verbose and get more information from her. But his own mouth is failing him and just having him repeat the same words.

She just stares in the distance. Towards the firsties and the thestrals but perhaps her gaze is more distant than that. 

”They're scared. They're not used to so many people seeing them.” He’s unsure if she is talking about the thestrals, the kids, or about Neville and Malfoy.

Off to the side, he hears a muted set of pops, nearly inaudible if it were not for the tranquility of the moment. He thinks he sees Kingsley pass by. More order business, he grimaces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but please enjoy. CC and comments are treasured :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter. Thank you all for your patience. Still looking for a muse/beta if anyone is interested. I'm quite stuck on how to get from one scene to another and would love someone to bounce ideas off of.

The next time Snape returns, he’s carrying a plate of food. He simply places it in front of Draco.

“Eat,” he orders as he takes Draco’s place in front of the ingredients. 

“What did McGonagall want to talk to you about?” he prods, sitting as casually as he can on the stiff wooden stools. 

“Just Order business. I’ll have a lot to take care of in the past few days.” He pauses, setting down the tools he was arranging and sighs. “You’ll be here for the duration. Do not leave the dungeons. It’s the safest place for you to be. Can you manage that?”

“I can follow instructions, Severus.” The name feels foreign on his tongue. It gives Snape a start too, about to admonish him when he catches himself. He's the one who insisted upon it after all.

“Right. Well I’ll be coming and going to check in. And to reiterate this is the safest place for you to be, I trust that you’re intelligent enough not to wander off. The kitchens is behind the fruit bowl portrait. Just tickle the pear and the door handle should appear. There are enough elves to make you food once you get hungry without interacting with anyone else. We’ll deliver the finished potions to the infirmary at the end of the day.”

Draco simply nods at the patronizing directives, unsure of what he might say if he opens his mouth.

True to his word, Snape’s presence is sporadic. At first he took note of it, but after some time, when no discernable pattern presented itself, he just focused on the methodical process of brewing. 

He was so engrossed in his potion making, noting the different stages of the brews he had going that he nearly jumped hearing Snape's voice telling them it was time to go. It was the one of the only two downsides of being in the dungeons, the lack of natural lighting. He tries to return the alpha’s cloak but Snape leaves just as immediately. Draco just buttons it up and clutches it tighter to his body. The overly cool temperature being the worst thing about the dungeons. 

They deposit the glass bottles on a nearby table by the infirmary door. And as he shuts it, he feels eyes watching him. He pushes closer to Snape as they leave the grounds behind.

* * *

It becomes a routine. Though thankfully he hasn’t seen Neville since that first day. He has attempted to ask regarding procuring a wand for him, but Snape just brushes the idea off. “Ollivander and his shop are beyond repair. He didn’t have the foresight to have hidden stock or trained an apprentice.” And that was that. Not that Ollivander would be particularly welcoming to him anyway considering his stay in the Malfoy dungeons.

His days consisted of gathering potions ingredients from the closet. He's even unable to gather some himself even for the things that were just on the outer edges of the Forbidden Forest and castle grounds. He writes down anything he's missing and Snape on one of his returns will have them. He just goes about brewing. Taking stock of what is needed and managing the cauldrons. It's tedious work. But potions have always been his specialty despite claims otherwise. He'd been Snape's favorite because of the skill and work ethic he's displayed, annoying Gryffindors aside. 

He initially had the doors closed but eventually left it open. He was just feeling paranoid about being watched or ambushed. He never saw anyone else enter the dungeons and it wasn’t worth being surrounded by the potions fumes.

It was a hot June day, warm enough to forego Snape’s cloak that it happens. The door slams shut and he nearly drops the tincture he’s holding. He’s expecting it to be Snape in an irate mood but stands in the doorway is none other than Potter.

* * *

Harry has been watching Malfoy do the same thing over and over again. He can't help but feel like the blond is up to something. Perhaps related to his overwhelming new perfume. He’s tried to follow Snape but once he reaches the Headmistress’s Office, he faced the same roadblock. 

From Harry's memory, Malfoy doesn't seem to be sabotaging any of the potions. Snape was always with him when they dropped it off so he's unable to inspect them before Madam Pomfrey can start administering them. The patients seem to be recovering. At a much faster rate than before now that the potion shortage is being filled. Harry doesn’t quite think Malfoy has nefarious intentions, but the lack of information is bothering him.

“What are you really doing here Malfoy?” he thinks aloud.

“I knew it! I knew someone was watching me. Still stalking me Potter? Since you’ve been watching me you’d know I've only left this blasted room for the restroom and to eat.” Still Draco seems scared despite his belligerence. Harry decided to take advantage and push further.

“What are you doing here?” he asks between gritted teeth.

“I told you I'm making potions.” Harry just barely manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes and steps closer. 

“Are you threatening me Potter?” says Malfoy, looking smug.

“Snape's not here. I saw him leave.” Malfoy visibly deflates. Harry is almost at the table. “Now tell me what you are up to.”

“How do I know you're telling the truth? Snape is probably around the castle somewhere Potter.”

“I saw him leave,” he lies smoothly. He tries Malfoy’s tactic and changes the topic himself, “What about this business with Neville then?”

“What business? What have you heard?” Malfoy’s eyes widen, “How long have you been eavesdropping, Potter? Frankly, it's none of your concern.”

“No, I didn’t eavesdrop. I knew Neville came down here to make a ward and he came back looking dejected. And you’re the only one down here.” Now that wasn’t technically a lie. “Now what did you tell him?”

Malfoy just stares for a moment before he sighs, “Tell you what Potter, help me get out of here and I'll tell you. I just need your word that you or anyone else won't hurt me.”

“I'm not helping you leave the grounds who knows what else you'll do.” Just the suggestion made Harry’s jaw clench. Just who did Malfoy think he was to try and bargain with him?

“I didn't mean leave the grounds! I'm just sick of being stuck down here. The potions stock is full to the brim, I hardly have anything else to do.” His pleading tone is surprising but what knocks Harry nearly off his feet was how his scent changed.

* * *

  
  


Potter doesn't seem to have noticed this particular ploy, obvious as it is. He’s definitely surprised that Potter hasn’t called him out on it. Or perhaps it’s typical Alpha chivalry. He doesn't have his wand and he's not about to reveal that fact. It was admittedly terrifying having an alpha raging towards you, anger rolling in waves. He curses his omega nature but can't help but be relieved that his scent has calmed Potter down.

“I’ll think about it,” he grits out before he storms off.

* * *

As they leave the castle Snape seems to notice his distraction.

“Anything happen today?”

“Yes, Potter came to see me.” Snape stiffens

“What did he want?”

“He said you were leaving the Hogwarts, is that true?”

He hesitates before assenting.

“What am I doing here then? If you’re just going to drop me off only to ignore me you might as well leave me in the Manor. I’d be safer there.”

“Despite your protestations, Hogwarts is the safest place for you to be. There is no one here that will harm you. Perhaps some strong words or intimidation but nothing that you can’t handle. Especially with a wand.”

“As you’ve said a million times. But I thought you were assisting with rebuilding. Why did you hide that from me?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t agree to come otherwise. And I have not been entirely misleading you, I have been assisting in rebuilding efforts.”

“You barely told me what we were going to do let alone leave me alone at Hogwarts. And you didn’t really give me much of a choice” 

Snape sighs and grabs his shoulders pulling him close. Overwhelmed with the Alpha’s scent and closeness, draco just stares at his chest. Snape rectifies the situation by hooking a finger under his chin and bringing their eyes together. “Believe me, I know how difficult it is to trust anyone in your position. Let alone how difficult it is to trust me. But I always do have your best interests in mind, never forget that.”

“If this marriage,” his voice catches on the word,” is to work, I don’t want to be like Mother and Father. You need to promise that you’ll be honest with me.”

“There are things I cannot tell you for your own protection.” Draco glowers.

“Do you promise, Severus?”

“Always.”


	6. Chapter 6

Harry carefully pens his letter to Hermione. Unsure of what to write, but still wanting to make it seem like everything was fine. For her not to worry any more than she already was or to entice her to return sooner, he isn’t sure. He writes of Neville and Luna’s quiet presence at the castle, always with a small group of first years. But eventually, the students left, so they did too, only showing up for their assigned shifts for rebuilding. He writes of his visits to the Weasleys. It was here that he stops. 

The Weasleys were the family he never had, yet it feels intrusive to write about them. How the Burrow, boisterous and lively, was now sullen and silent. He can’t blame them. But still he didn’t feel like it was his place to mourn with them. They were all blood and have known each other the moment they were born. Harry is just another intruder, the cause for all of the deaths they’re now shouldering. Everyone wasn’t doing well, with George being the worst off. It’s as if life had been sucked out of him. Maybe it has.

He carefully stows away his writing utensils, but leaving them close in case he manages to find something to write about. He leans back in his chair and places his hands behind his head. He’s completely bored out of his mind.

He has debated staying at Grimmauld Place, but ultimately decided against it. As lonely as he feels at Hogwarts it’d only be worse with those sooty walls and only Kreacher for company. At least here he can roam, walk out the excess energy he now has. He’s fixed most of the map at this point, with how much he’s walked around the grounds. Though the automatic tracking of people is still dysfunctional. It’s tricky spellwork. He wishes Hermione was here, but it might be insulting that he just wants everything to go back to the way it was. She has a lot more on her plate than fixing a stupid map.

He stares at all the dots, trying to pinpoint what needs adjusting when he falls on the area he’s largely left alone. It’s probably a stupid idea, but he’s already folded up the map and headed to the dungeons.

* * *

Draco tries to lose himself in the methodical motions of brewing, but his interactions with Snape has been clouding his thoughts. Without a wand, and being a Death Eater to boot, he understands that making potions is the only way he can be useful. And even that is running its course. He’s down to half of what he had to make in the weeks prior. Even the need for the technically challenging potions are dwindling, with patients recovering. In the brief glimpses of the Hospital Wing he has noticed a decrease of beds being used. Minor injuries have healed, more serious ones likely transferred to St. Mungos once they’ve stabilized. Soon he’ll serve no purpose, and then what?

Snape had been so adamant that Hogwarts was the safest place for him to be. Draco doesn’t quite believe him. But then again, every time they reach the grounds, it's as if his lungs have opened up, finally able to breathe. It’s the most freedom he’s felt for a while, even with the restrictions. And thinking about it now, it is much preferable to the Manor or Snape’s decrepit home. At least he has something to wake up and do, something to get dressed for in the morning.

Still, he’s doubtful. But he’s felt slightly safer, knowing that most of the people that have been staying have left to their remaining family. He’s taken to wandering the dungeons, not brave enough to wander further. But his mind goes in many directions.

Why did Snape deceive him into thinking he was only doing rebuilding work? Now he’s better and trying to at least keep Draco abreast about his comings and goings. He’s left the grounds, hence why Draco felt comfortable enough to go out of the Potions Lab. But he’s still not forthcoming. And before then, has he really been truthful? What kind of answer was “always”? More like always cryptic. It's very Slytherin not to answer a question directly or better yet answer with another question but he could use some directness. 

He’s not sure what to make of their engagement. Would their marriage be a happy one? If this experience is anything to go by, it will be a lonely existence. He’s known that he would likely have an arranged marriage, especially after his presentation. But was it too much to hope for at least something resembling a functional partnership? To do something other than wait for Snape and vie for scraps of affection?

His thoughts go around in circles, many of them simultaneously playing themselves out. There’s so much buzz inside his head, full of thoughts not fully realized and ones he doesn’t want to solidify. He wants to pound his head against the walls when a foreign scent stops him in his tracks. _ Potter. _

“There’s no use skulking about Potter, I know you’re there.” the alpha steps out of an alcove.

“I wasn’t skulking. You just seem to have a lot on your mind though, I’ve been following you for a while now.”

“What do you want, Potter?”

“I’ve thought about what you said the other day.”

“And?”

He seems to hesitate at first, but he then blurts out, “What do you know about secret passageways in Hogwarts, Malfoy?”

“I know a few. Mostly shortcuts to the dungeons.” Draco considered lying to Potter or at least omitting some things. But in the end, he opted for honesty. “And two heading out to Hogsmeade.”

“Which two?”

“The one in the Room of Requirement, the one you presumably used. And the one passage behind a mirror on the fourth floor. It was caved in but Neville and I restored it. It was where the DA had meetings at first, with the Room being carefully monitored.”

“Neville trusted you with that?”

“He invited me to come enough times, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk outright aligning myself with them with all the trouble they caused. I thought it was safer for my family that I stay out, playing Death Eater.”

“Can you show me? I’m trying to fix them. These passages are the last of their priority in rebuilding if they’re even aware of them.”

It seems reasonable enough, though Draco knows Potter well enough that he knows the other boy is hiding something. Regardless, they take the stairs and head to the fourth floor. When they reach the mirror, Draco is apprehensive. This was supposed to be his and Neville’s secret meeting place. It feels like he’s betraying something, showing it to Potter.

“How did you find this passage anyway?”

“That’s none of your business Potter,” he pulls the mirror and it swings open to reveal an opening. “Here it is.”

“You first Malfoy.” They walk the passage in silence for some time, passing the large meeting area when Potter asks, “So what happened last year?”

They continue walking and Draco leaves the question hanging in the air.

Eventually, though, he speaks, “I know this is a stupid question to ask, but are you familiar with Wizarding maxims and beliefs regarding secondary sex?”

“If you’re just going to insult me Malfoy, I can just take you back.”

“I didn’t mean that, you dolt! It’s what shaped the dubious curriculum last year.”

“You mean, aside from what? Dark Arts and Pureblood Supremacy?”

“I know you’re joking but you aren’t really that far off from the truth.” Potter raises a brow, surprised but he stays quiet. “Anyhow, it’s something that I’ve never been able to completely understand myself. But most magical people tend to present as omega. Historically, when wizards and witches were persecuted, it’s how they knew the magical gene had been passed. Omegas present very rarely in muggles. Somewhere along the way, or perhaps it’s the overabundance of omegas or the diversification of sexes within Wizarding society, Alphas became the superior sex. Though I guess it could also be contributed to Wizarding society’s traditional beliefs melding with Alphiarchal values.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate the history lesson Malfoy, but you’re ranting. Could you get to the point?”

Draco stops, “They tortured them, Potter.”

“Tortured who?” Potter asks softly, his jaw clenched.

“Everyone,” he whispers, “I tried my best to shield the younger ones but I don’t exactly have any influence. It was mostly Snape and help from the DA.”

“What fucking purpose does that serve?”

“Because Potter, omegas are nurtured. Alphas are made.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Even I knew how false and barbaric it is, Potter, why did you think I didn’t support it? But I had to give the image that I did. Hell, I was under a lot of scrutiny myself. It’s how my arrangement with Neville came about. Anyway, I think we’re here.” Potter looks like he’s about to say something, but Draco isn’t sure if he’s ready to have that conversation just yet. “I have to go back, I don’t know when Snape will return.”

Potter just nods, checking out the area. When he thinks he’s far enough away from Potter’s line of sight, he runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to M33Sky for the beta. They have been instrumental in getting this chapter out faster!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, this is my first fic in the fandom and my first serious attempt at a story. I intend for this to be really long so the warnings/pairings/tags are a bit bare right now, it is integral to the plot to be vague. Draco is the titular widower so all the relationships will be draco-centric, but it's not going to entirely be in his pov.  



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